1000 Days at the Chateau- chapter 12&13
by Jacqueline Boutade
Summary: Valentine is sent to one of the farms belonging to the Chateau where she is to work as a peasant girl. She finds friendship and happiness hovers nearby- she thinks less of Guy. The farmer Bernard takes her for his lover and is kind to her. But his son, Alain demands Valentine as his 21st birthday present.


One Thousand Days – Chapter 12 – The Farm

Valentine's journey to the farmhouse was uncomfortable and lonely. She remembered how excited she had been on her journey to the chateau so long ago. Then she had been dressed almost the same, a plain dress, her white pinafore and bonnet, a shawl for warmth and comfort, although the day was mild. She did not look out upon the fields or look to the sun. Nothing could warm her heart. She felt weighed down by the world, full of dread about what would happen to her, at the farm and after that. She did not wish to disgrace herself or the marquis but to honour both herself and him was becoming an impossible task.

She found she was crying. The sadness in her soul welling up and spilling down her face. She searched her mind for what she might have done to displease the marquis. She had always followed his instructions, agreed to his commands. After all, that was the contract. She was his for one thousand days to do as he pleased. She could not see how recent events and this latest action could please him. But she remained at heart a simple peasant girl, who despite doing so well at her lessons with Monsieur Artois, had no real understanding of the world of men. She thought that she did not want such an understanding if it meant you were cruel to those who loved you. Yes, she had loved the marquis and he had spurned her; refused to take her to Prince Alexei's wedding even though she knew the prince and the Duke of Burgundy had expected her to be there. She had humiliated herself time and again, whored herself to his friends and servants, all at his command and still the marquis was not pleased.

She felt her heart harden. She wished to never see him again. She wished to remain in the new place, forget she was Valentine from the village of Chatillon, mistress to the Marquis de Chatillon, become a simple dairy maid and find some peace and perhaps contentment here with a man who did not know her. The words of Sophie and Pierre echoed in her head, marriage and love did not belong together; there were many reasons to make a match. Rene knew too much, although she believed she could find happiness with him, she would be shamed by what she had been to the marquis and Rene would always know that. No, easier to find a stranger here, or elsewhere to make a life with.

She thought she could run away. She thought she could spend a night or two at the farm, eat a hearty dinner and then be gone across the fields to a place somewhere as far as her legs would take her and offer her services there. She was a capable woman, skilled in many ways, surely she could make a living in the world?

But the cart had stopped and as she alighted, stumbled and nearly fell, she knew she did not have the strength in her body or mind to run away. She sighed sadly: she had to make the best of this. So she pulled herself up, smiled her modest smile, bowed to the farmer and followed him to the maids' quarters, a low room above the barn, where a narrow cot with a shelf above it was to be her home for as long as it pleased the marquis. She made no indication that she was aghast at the accommodation, that she had spent the last two years in luxury. In her head, she was Valentine from the village, who had spent years sleeping on the floor, covered with straw, nestled close to her sisters. This was heaven compared to that, a bed to yourself. She thanked the farmer, left her meagre belongings on the shelf and followed him to the kitchen where she joined the other workers and enjoyed their humble repast.

A pretty girl called Marie-Claire chummed up with her as she had the bed next to Valentine's. She took Valentine by the hand and showed her around the farm and out to the fields where the cows stood complacently chewing the grass, as peaceful an animal as Valentine had ever seen.

'Your hands are very soft,' Marie-Claire noted. 'You've not milked before.'

'Valentine shook her head. 'I was a lady's maid for a while but they have no use for me anymore.' It seemed a plausible enough story and Marie-Claire seemed happy enough with it.

'Don't be afraid, I'll show you how to do it,' she smiled. 'Once the cows like you it's easy. They are placid animals who like a firm but gentle touch. Too soft and no milk will come; too hard and they will kick you away.'

Valentine was pleased to find a friend so quickly.

'It's because you're pretty,' said Marie-Claire. 'The others have always been jealous of me with the boys, so now you're here I won't be so alone.'

Valentine laughed softly at the girl's disarming honesty. 'Are the boys handsome?' she asked, realising that she had never had such conversations. Perhaps it would be all right being here for a time?

Marie-Claire winked. 'You've got to watch the farmer's son. He's a bit free with his hands. He thinks because we're maids we won't mind but I do. I want a husband, not to be someone's mistress and they think because I'm pretty I'm friendly, if you know what I mean, but I'm not. Some of the other girls are. They're too friendly.'

Valentine smiled as she settled to bed that night. Marie-Claire was sweet, the others polite and the boys seemed too young to her. She slept well on her tiny bed and woke in the darkness, well before dawn with the others to head to the fields with their pails and stools. She was surprised to see Alain, the farmer's son waiting in the field, but perhaps he was in charge of some aspects of farm life.

Marie-Claire stood by to help Valentine get started, knowing she was inexperienced and nervous. Cows could be difficult beasts if not handled correctly. Alain smiled at them both and took Valentine's hand. 'I will help you learn. Father wants to know your aptitude for milking, otherwise he will allocate you different tasks. There is a place in the house if this is too difficult for you.' Valentine nodded, she was doubtful she had any natural skills for milking but she knew how to handle men, and perhaps a cow was like a man, just needing the right touch, the right pressure? That seemed to be what Marie-Claire was saying.

Valentine watched the young man with his dark curls falling across his green eyes. His nose was too sharp for her liking, with his chin too hard for his face, giving it a cruel aspect. She thought he might be handsome when he reached the marquis' age but for now it was clear he thought he was handsome enough, and certainly his position as the farmer's son gave him a confidence that verged on arrogance. It would need to be tempered once he became the farmer otherwise he would be a cruel man and a poor boss.

'Stand by me and watch closely,' Alain said to Valentine. 'It seems a simple task but it takes time to master. Watch carefully and then you may try.'

His fingers were long and strong as he massaged the cow's teats, easing the milk easily from the beast. His demonstration was simple and clear: she was sure she could manage such a task.

Valentine sat on the milking stool and took the cow gently in her own hands, warmed as he had directed so as not to unnecessarily upset the animal. Alain stood beside her, leaning into her, wrapping his arms around her to hold her hands as she milked the cows, effectively controlling her movements and pressure. She said nothing about his physical closeness, assumed he was being cheeky, especially when he pressed his cheek next to hers, ostensibly to whisper in her ear. 'How excellent you are. I do admire your touch.'

'Thank you,' she said evenly. 'I think I can manage on my own now.'

He stepped away from her but watched as she milked the cow, not a prodigious amount and not efficiently but enough to relieve the cow and half fill the bucket. He returned at the end of the session, examining her pail. 'It's enough for a first time. I will watch all week and then report to my father.'

She smiled politely at him.

'Your yield will need to improve to stay in the fields with us. But at least the cow liked you. You have made a good start. I shall report this to my father.'

Marie-Claire waited for Valentine to walk her to breakfast. 'He likes you.'

Valentine nodded. She was accustomed to being admired by men, so it meant very little to her.

'He used to like me, too,' Marie-Claire confessed. 'But when I refused his advances he became cruel, flirted with the other girls, even though he despises and ridicules them. He tried to have me removed from the milking but Anton, who runs the milking and looks after the cows would not have it. Said I was his best milker and to make trouble elsewhere.'

Valentine accepted Marie-Claire's caution as it reinforced her own reaction to Alain. He would be one to watch. She hoped he would not be part of the marquis' story this time, but a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach told her he would be. Oh, what an arrogant and useless lover he would be, she expected. A boy who thought he was a man. She sighed, saddened again by her life all too quickly.

'Well might you sigh,' said Marie-Claire. 'If Alain wants you he can make a lot of trouble for you here.'

'And I do not have Anton to defend me!'

Marie-Claire blushed again.

'So, he is your love?'

The girl nodded. 'We plan to marry, but it is a secret. Please tell no-one, Valentine. Promise me you won't.'

Valentine took the girl's hands in hers and squeezed them. 'I am very good at keeping secrets: there is none better than I with a secret. Trust me.' Valentine longed to tell Marie-Claire her own secret but knew it was out of the question. She did not know what the marquis had in store for her here, but she wanted it to stay with as fewer people as possible. Besides, how could she burden such a girl with her own secrets, her own sordid shame? No, much better to make the most of an innocent friendship, enjoy it while she could.

Milking continued twice a day for the week, as it had always done and always would. Valentine found the work tiring but easy, it's gentle routine a soothing balm to her battered soul. She thanked God for the simplicity of her life and asked for it to last, even though she knew it could not. But perhaps this was a sign of what life could be like once she was freed from her bond? As the pails filled ever higher as the days went on Valentine began to imagine a life for herself as a milkmaid and if Marie-Claire could find a husband then surely she could too. Perhaps the marquis had sent her here out of kindness; that he was truly preparing her to return to her life as a peasant?

Alain appeared in the fields again on Sunday evening as the last drop of milk was squeezed into the pail. She smiled up at him, her curls falling across her brow, free from her cap. She was proud of her achievement; a full pail of milk and not one angry cow all week. It seemed the greatest triumph to her and she smiled with pride.

Alain took her hand, helping her up from her stool. 'My, but you have soft hands, no wonder the cows like you.' He held her hand for too long and she knew he did not bring news she wanted to hear. 'You have done well. My father is pleased but he has decided you would be better placed at the main house, with us.'

Valentine's heart pounded but she had learnt enough about controlling her emotions to not let her disappointment show on her face. 'I had so enjoyed the milking though, sir. What would I be required to do for your father?' It was as she had expected. The time in the barn being an ordinary girl was just a glimpse of what life could be if only she was an ordinary peasant. The early rising, the coolness of the morning, the smell of grass and cattle was pleasing to her. She slept soundly for the week in her narrow bed, unbothered by unhappy thoughts or needy men. She knew that was about to change.

'My father requires an extra maid at the house, to help cook, and complete tasks that seem to never get done. I believe he has a list of tasks and will explain them to you. You are to fetch your things and report to the house first thing in the morning.'

She nodded, knowing her peaceful time in the barn and fields with Marie-Claire and the cows was at an end, all too soon.

Bernard Goddard was a God fearing man who had worked for the marquis and his father for many years. Just as his father had run the farm before him, so Alain would run it after he had gone. He was proud of his cows and the milk and butter produced for the chateau and the marquis' estates. But he was a lonely man of forty, who drank himself to sleep most nights, his wife dead for more than ten years from a fever that took her and his two daughters. His house was not as comfortable as it would have been with a woman's touch. Cook hardly moved from the kitchen while the housemaid cleaned ineffectively and spent the rest of her time paying attention to Alain.

Bernard looked at the girl in front of him. He thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Despite her plain garb she seemed as an angel, bathed in the morning sunshine. She smiled softly at him, her blue eyes meeting his briefly before falling away. She seemed proud but modest; a curious mix in a young girl. He had not believed she was a milk-maid and Alain's description of her skills confirmed his beliefs. Nor did she look like a house-maid. He gazed upon her hungrily and wondered what he was doing, what the marquis really required from him. He imagined having her in the house would cheer everyone up, even his sour old cook. He imagined having her in his bed would cheer him up. He quickly dismissed that thought and turned to more practical matters.

'I am sure cook will find something for you to do. She always needs an extra pair of hands and the house could do with a more refined touch.' He stood up, not much taller than herself, a good six inches shorter than the marquis. 'Come, let me show you to your room.'

He led her up the staircase to her room, a small room at the top of the house. It held a three quarter size bed, one chair and a chest of drawers with a jug and basin. A window looked across to the barn, where she had recently spent one of the happiest weeks of her life. She shook her head, so far away from her apartment in the chateau that it was ridiculous. Still, someone had put fresh sheets on the bed and placed a vase of flowers on the window sill. She looked to see if the door had a lock and key and was pleased to see that it did.

Valentine felt the farmer's eyes linger on breasts too long and felt a shiver of unease. He must have been her father's age, but in better health, although she saw the red eyes and shaking hand that described a drinking man. She hoped he was one who fell over and slept till morning, and didn't fight or break up people's possessions or bones, as her father had done too often. She wondered about her father as she gazed upon Bernard Goddard, whose skin was thick and brown on his face and neck, whose eyes were a faded version of his son's clear green eyes. Was her father alive, had he benefited from the marquis' arrangement or had he fallen back to his old ways?

In the kitchen Valentine met cook, who seemed to have no other name than cook and was polite in her greeting. 'You are welcome,' she nodded. 'I'm sure we can keep you busy.' She examined Valentine's soft hands. 'Not used to hard work, though, mm?'

Valentine repeated her story. 'I was a lady's maid, madam, but I'm sure I can be useful here.'

Cook grunted. 'I'm not sure we have that many flowers to arrange and certainly we have no ladies to look after.'

'I am willing to learn,' Valentine smiled sweetly at cook. 'I have been told I am a quick learner.'

Cook nodded. 'We'll find out then, won't we?'

She seemed gruff but not unkind. Valentine felt she would be fairly treated by the woman, who reminded her faintly of Mathilde – a rougher, older version of her friend.

Nathalie, the maid was also introduced, but she did not seem pleased to make Valentine's acquaintance.

'I am pleased to make your acquaintance,' Valentine said, offering her hand to the other girl. Nathalie ignored it.

'You will be polite,' Cook chided.

'Hello,' said Nathalie, her mouth drawn in a thin line. She examined Valentine and even in such plain clothes her beauty was evident. Unlike Marie-Claire, Nathalie did not see a new friend in Valentine, instead she saw a rival for Alain. She was not a friendly girl anyway, as was plain to see from her isolation from the other girls working on the farm. She held herself apart from the others, even at meal times she did not join in the conversations around the table. She behaved as if she was important, or going to be, and so the other girls thought her proud and full of unnecessary airs and graces. No-one in the barn expected the farmer's son to marry the housemaid, despite her fervent belief.

'I'm certain we can be friends,' Valentine said, although she did not believe it.

'I have little need of friends,' Nathalie said. 'I am very busy and have little time for frivolous pleasures.'

'I'm here to help, to lessen your burdens around the house.'

Nathalie glared at Valentine. 'I am not burdened by my tasks. The young master is especially pleased with my work and will have no need of your attentions.'

Valentine did not smile, did not laugh at the girl's silly attempt to warn her off. 'I have no interest in the young master, or the old. I have been sent here to help. That's all. I wouldn't dream of paying any attention to the young master.'

Cook snorted in the corner. Nathalie blushed. 'Good then,' she said and rushed from the kitchen to busy herself in other parts of the house.

With nothing that the farmer needed doing, Valentine settled to helping cook with the vegetables, peeling and chopping a large selection for soup and the stew she made for the farm hands' dinner. Cook said little, which appealed to Valentine. The fire roared and the pot bubbled.

'There's no real work for you here,' said Cook as Valentine peeled and chopped.

Valentine nodded. 'I thought not.'

'I expect you're here for the young master. He approaches a marriageable age.'

Valentine shrugged. 'I work for the marquis.'

'You watch yourself, girl. The young master's not such a nice lad.' Cook waved her big knife in Valentine's face. 'And Nathalie isn't a nice girl.'

'I haven't come to cause trouble.'

Cook looked at her. 'I'm sure you haven't but I'm sure you will.'

As she lay in her bed, looking out her window up at the stars, Valentine heard someone outside her room, their footsteps stop and a firm hand upon the door-handle trying to open it. They struggled and she felt them push at the door but its solid wood and metal hinges did not give and she was left alone to find sleep.

One Thousand Days – Chapter 13 – Stories from the Farm

In the absence of instructions Valentine took herself to the kitchen and helped cook. She liked sitting by the fire at the large wooden table washing, peeling and chopping vegetables. Cook took her to the vegetable garden where she helped choose and pick the right vegetables. She went to the chicken house and collected eggs. She watched cook and followed her instructions, quickly seeing how Cook managed the meals for the farm. She helped serve and cleaned away after dinner and supper. She made up a plate for Nathalie who ate in her room. She was pleased to meet Marie-Claire at meals and although they only greeted each other it was with such warmth that the feeling carried Valentine through her day.

She avoided the farmer and his son, uncertain as to who had come to her room in the night. She took the farmer's meal to his study and left it for him, pleased he was not present, so she did not have to face him with the suspicions in her mind. She suspected Alain, the son, was her midnight visitor, despite Nathalie's protestations, but given the way the father had looked at her yesterday, anything was possible. With a sickening feeling in her belly, she knew she would not be waiting long to find out the true identity of her would be visitor.

That night when she went to lock her door Valentine found the key had been removed. She dressed for bed, with her usual care and waited patiently for the knock to come, which it duly did. Bernard stood in the doorway a little red of face and nervous of disposition. 'The marquis said you would be kind to me,' he said. 'He said you would tell me a story to tell him.'

'I am always at the marquis' command and if he has commanded me to be kind to you, then I will be. Please, sir, come into the room. It is better if this is a private matter.'

He nodded and shut the door behind him, returning the key to the lock and turning it. 'My wife has been dead many a year,' he said. 'I have been lonely for a woman for a long time, especially one such as you.' He stood awkwardly near the window, uncertain of protocols in such a situation. She was not his wife, nor a common whore, with whom he was infrequently acquainted. He was not sure what to do: he only knew what he wanted.

Valentine saw his awkwardness and her heart softened. He was embarrassed by his needs, unsure of her and how he came to be in this situation. She touched him gently on his arm and moved her head to kiss his cheek. She sat him on the bed and took off her gown. He stared at her in amazement, greedily taking in her voluptuousness. He took off his shirt and she could see he was a stocky man who was still strong but whose youthful vigour had gone. His hands pawed her roughly in eagerness. She moved his mouth to suck on her breast and stroked his head as he nestled there. He sighed with delight as he brought his head up to her face. She took his brown face in her hands and kissed him on the mouth, pushing her tongue gently inside. She knew he was hard now and so she undid his breeches and laid on the bed for him to take her as he wanted, in the way that was best for him. He was still a proud man and it was not for her to instruct him further.

He covered her with his hot thick body, his weight a comfort to her in this unwelcome situation. He moved his penis into her without touching her first, without seeing if she was ready. She barely was but it was enough for him to find his way in, albeit roughly and inexpertly. He grunted above her for a few moments, then his desire took the better of him and he was quickly spent.

He dressed himself quickly and she covered herself with the bedding, as the room was chill without a fire. 'I'll come again tomorrow,' he nodded. 'Good night.' He left the key for her to lock after him, knowing she would not lock the door against him again. It had not been an entirely unpleasant experience, nor was it one she wanted especially to repeat but she knew he would come to her again and again. She was his gift from the marquis – some service rendered and this was his reward. She hated the marquis more, if that was possible. She was reduced to a simple possession. Something the marquis could pass around as he saw fit. At first she had been passed to his friends, to noble men, then to Parisian gardeners and now to farmers. Once she had belonged only to him; she had been his prize. He could no longer value her at all if he was able to do this, to allow her to be known by so many men.

She slept without tears, feeling nothing, feeling numb.

Bernard returned each night, just on ten, knocking gently on the door, saying his name. She welcomed him, ready for his hunger, his greedy hands on her body, pulling her gown from her. He had little skill but much urgency and once he was done he did not linger. They spoke little and she was relieved after all by this quick exchange. She responded to his loneliness with kindness, but there was no pleasure for her. Did that matter? Not at all, it was as easy a way to be as she had found: her days in the kitchen with Cook and her nights with Bernard.

Alain turned twenty-one. He had a night in the village with his friends and did not come home until the next day, where upon he slept all day. Nathalie was furious as she had expected to join him for his celebrations but he had left her at home. She stalked the house, glaring at anyone who crossed her path. She went to speak to Valentine, to make some accusation but realised there was no accusation to make. Alain had not mentioned her name or looked at her in Nathalie's presence. She was jealous but had nothing to base it on.

Nathalie was twenty. She was ready to marry and she hoped Alain would ask her now he was of an age to consider marriage. He was now truly a man, so he must look to his responsibilities and Nathalie had worked assiduously to make Alain want her. She had not given herself fully but she would the moment the engagement ring was on her finger. Then she would let him take her. She had made this clear to him and had expected this to happen with his birthday. But he had abandoned her for his friends, had left her angry and uncertain, destabilized by Valentine's quiet presence in the household.

Bernard was pleased to have his son reach such a momentous age. He was more vigorous and pleasing with Valentine than before, his pride in his son infecting his own manhood. He had taken to holding her in his arms for a short while after he had taken his pleasure in her. He liked the smell of her hair and the touch of her skin and so he lingered. She did not mind and even if she had she would never tell him; it was not her place. Besides she missed the reassurance of a man's arms around her in the wake of love making.

'Alain has asked for only one present,' Bernard said, as they lay together. 'But I am not sure I should give it to him.'

Valentine listened carefully but said nothing.

'He says if I truly love him then I will do as he asks. I want to please him but he asks a great deal.'

'If you love him then you should try to please him.'

'If he loved me he would not ask me for this thing.'

Of course she knew what was being asked and she could not offer advice. She was, after all, the marquis' whore, she was used to being handed around. What difference would this ménage a trios make to her? She knew she was beyond God, beyond guilt, as she listened to Bernard. She felt nothing at the suggestion she would now be passed from father to son. Her shame had been extinguished. God had left her: she was damned for all eternity. No convent would take her now, no man would marry her. She was utterly doomed and it was not her fault. Was it? Could she have said no at the beginning? Could she have refused her mother's direction and stayed in their tiny house, in their small village, waiting for some poor boy to marry her? Would that have been better? What would have happened to her family if she had refused the marquis? No, it was not possible to be poor and make choices about your life. It seemed to her to be poor and beautiful was to be doubly cursed. She almost laughed: God had forsaken her years ago, not recently but at the moment of her birth.

'Sometimes it is better to give freely what could be taken anyway,' she said.

Bernard was silent for a time and then dressed slowly. 'I will not come tomorrow,' he said, unable to meet her gaze. 'But you are to unlock the door when the knock comes. Do you understand?'

'As you command,' she said. Some things never changed she thought.

It was just the story the marquis would want to hear, being handed from father to son, another humiliation for her. Had the marquis engineered this situation for his own perverse pleasure? She did not wish to gaze upon the smug countenance of Alain as he pranced into her room. She did not think about Bernard alone again in his bed. It must be worse for him; to have had something wonderful in his life again only to have it taken from him.

Alain had dressed for the occasion in his finest shirt and breeches. He smelt perfumed and his hair was sleek and shiny. His eyes blazed with triumph. She took his hand and bowed to him, her eyes averted from his smug face. 'Happy birthday,' she said.

'It will be indeed,' he leered, seating himself by the window. He looked her up and down in her simple gown. 'You must take it off. I wish to look at you before we do anything. Are you as lovely as dear Papa says you are?'

She removed her gown and stood obediently in front of him, as she had done for so many other men. It was true that she enjoyed a man's admiration and she knew it would not be hers to possess forever, so she allowed Alain to drink in her beauty, to salivate at the thought of moving within her. She knew her power over men and knew that Alain was about to have the night of his life. She felt her own power in his appreciative gaze and knew he did not know the size of the gift he was about to receive.

'Let me kiss you,' he said advancing to her, pulling her into him. She felt his manhood as he pressed his body into hers. He was too young for her, really he was, but she would be kind again. It was her master's command after all. His kiss was clumsy; too hard on her mouth, biting her lip too strongly, pushing his tongue too roughly into her mouth. She pulled her mouth back a little, nipping his mouth and touching the tip of her tongue with his.

'There,' she said, 'like that. Don't be such a bully. A kiss is a soft thing, a gentle thing.'

He stared at her in disbelief. 'You are going to tell me about love?'

She bowed her head and then looked at him with her most coquettish look. 'If you will allow me.'

He was confused by her. He was the master of the house, his father's heir, she had to obey him. He was twenty-one, he was a man. She was just a peasant girl of exceptional beauty who had bewitched his father.

She reached down to massage his manhood, thick and throbbing in his breeches. He moaned involuntarily. 'Shall I show you what I can do for your pain?'

He nodded, wordless at last. She fell to her knees, undid him quickly and took him in her mouth. He gasped and shuddered. She pulled back frightened that he would come too soon. She loosened her mouth around him and drew his penis gently in and out. She took him in her hand and softly licked his balls, tightening them with every flick of her tongue. She licked and kissed his penis, sucking gently on the tip, biting gently, releasing a small spurt of liquid. He was moaning and quivering but unable to move away from her touch. She took him back in her mouth and closed it around him now intent on bringing him to bliss. She rocked back and forth on her knees, bringing him closer and closer, her mouth holding him tight. She felt him brace, cry out and then he pushed into her, filling her mouth. His sigh filled the small room. She eased away from him, leaving him wilting gently. She stood up and wrapped her gown around her as the room had grown too cold.

He fell to the chair, panting, immobilised. He looked at her in amazement. 'Where are you from? Who are you?'

'I was a lady's maid. I learnt many things. Are you pleased or not?'

He nodded his head foolishly. 'Must I go now?'

She shrugged. 'If you want. But you will recover in a few moments, you are young, surely you have more stamina than that?'

He nodded, suddenly aware that he was out of his depth but too curious to leave. He wanted more, she was offering more. He would take it. What a story he would tell his friends. He thought momentarily of Nathalie, her tame charms, felt a sliver of guilt about her, knowing he would not want her after this night.

Valentine climbed into bed. 'Come by me,' she said. 'Let us make love together.'

She let him take the lead, kissing her gently as previously instructed, stroking her body with appreciation. She led his hand to her sex and let him linger there, feeling tentatively inside, pushing further inside, making her sigh and softly moan. He was not incompetent but lacking in experience. She guessed he rarely touched a girl although he was sure to have fucked a few.

When he was hard again she rolled him onto his back and settled on him in what was her favourite position.

He was shocked at her audacity. 'What are you doing? This is not right.'

'It will be better this way,' she murmured, leaning into him so her breasts fell in front of his face. 'You can lick them,' she said.

He moved his hands over her body as she gently swayed above him, moving up and down slowly on his firm erection. He closed his eyes and she knew he was in heaven. He held her hips and she worked her magic, up and down, back and forth, deeper, deeper. She felt her own desire building within and led him with her, stronger, deeper, faster. She moaned and opened her legs wide over him pushing down hard. His hips spasmed and he came strongly within her. He cried out in pure bliss, his mind exploding with light.

She fell from him and let him lie for a while collecting himself.

'Thank you,' he said when he was dressed and ready to leave. 'You are the best present I have ever received.' He kissed her hand and she felt an odd affection for him.

'Be sure to thank your father now that you know the strength of his love and what you really asked of him.'

He bowed his head. 'I did not know.'

She smiled at him. 'How could you?'

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